


A Year in Rebma

by Serenade



Category: Chronicles of Amber - Roger Zelazny
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Female!Random, Gen, Genderswap, Temporarily a Different Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-27 04:28:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20401672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Serenade/pseuds/Serenade
Summary: Queen Moire chooses a different sentence for Random: not to wed a lady of the court for a year, but to become a lady of the court for a year.





	A Year in Rebma

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Merfilly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merfilly/gifts).

There is an elixir they brew, in the sea kingdom. They say it is made from mermaid tears and dragon pearls and other impossible things. It tastes as bitter as saltwater and regret.

They brought it to me in a crystal chalice, a dark liquid, faintly smoking. They offered it up with trepidation, as if they were offering me poison. Who knew what was really in it? There were few witnesses here, in this deep sea cavern, only the queen and a handful of her attendants and guards.

Moire said, "Well, Prince Random?"

All right, I admit it, I was scared. I wasn't much of a prince, but I was me.

Still. I had given my word to Corwin that I would accept this judgment. It was cheap coin. Debased currency. But if Corwin could change, after centuries, from ruthlessly ambitious to something else…

Maybe he wasn't the only one.

I lifted the chalice in a toast. "Down the hatch," I said, and drank.

I hoped they wouldn't become famous last words.

I've walked the Pattern. I know what it is to have a new design written onto your body. But this was like being cloven in two. Flesh and bone reshaped themselves in stabbing bursts, changing from the inside out. I lost even the breath to scream, only a strangled hiss like a dying animal. I tried to stay on my feet as the cavern spun around me. The chalice tumbled from my grasp in slow motion.

Transformation hurts.

*

It's one thing to reinvent yourself in a new setting among strangers. It's another to radically change before the eyes of people you know. Maybe I could have pretended to be someone else in front of the Rebmans. It wouldn't be the first time I took on a new identity in a new Shadow, even if none had been female before.

But here my sisters were, who had known me since I was a squalling brat. Even now, when I lay exhausted and recovering, their bedside manner lacked a certain tenderness.

"You were never in danger of execution," Llewella said, as though I were the naïve one. "Moire would never kill you. What would she tell Martin?"

I was stunned. "Why would Martin give a damn about me?"

"I'm sure I don't know. It's easier to mourn a dead father than hate a living one."

I wondered if she spoke from experience.

"A lady of her court," Deirdre mused. "A strange kind of revenge to choose."

"Isn't it obvious?" I said. "She wants to humiliate me."

Deirdre lifted a brow. "It's a humiliation, being a woman?"

"Well, not for you. You were born into it."

There was a long silence. A rising storm in her eyes. I raised my palms. "Sorry. I didn't mean anything by it."

Llewella shook her head, with an ironic smile to Deirdre. "Of course he didn't. It wouldn't occur to him."

I realised that for the first time, I was outnumbered by my sisters. The guys had always outnumbered the girls, two to one. But now it was the other way around.

"I'm still me," I said. "Even with this body, I'm still the same person I was before."

"Really?" Deirdre said, in a cutting voice. "You mean, it doesn't make you not a person anymore?"

*

Moire held court once a day, hearing petitioners and making judgments. I was commanded to attend, conducting myself in a manner befitting my station. I contemplated defying her orders. What if I sallied into court in a denim miniskirt and ripped fishnets? That would be obeying the letter but not the spirit. I had promised Corwin I would try. For the sake of the regency he had offered me. For the sake of other things I had locked away in a box in my head. So it meant sitting still in front of a vanity while a maid did my hair and face.

All eyes were on me as I entered the hall. Men and women in blue and green and silver, all shades of the shifting sea. They wore scaled trunks and cloaks, bare-chested except for necklaces of seashells. Llewella followed the fashions of Rebma, in shimmering purple scales, but Deirdre dressed as she would in Amber, in a long black gown girdled with silver.

I wore my own colours--orange, red, and brown--or at least the closest equivalent, from the wardrobe available. I had chosen a modest dress that sheathed my torso and thighs, but I felt as exposed as though I were naked, a hundred eyes judging and appraising me. I had not suffered such scrutiny visiting as a prince. I kept a smile pasted on my face. It probably looked insipid, but I'd be damned if I showed my quaking. Each step was a strange new agony.

Moire sat on her turquoise throne, sceptre in hand, expression inscrutable. She greeted me before the court, announcing my name and rank. "Welcome, Random, Lady of Rebma. Our guest for the next year."

The next year. Could I even get through the first day?

*

I escaped to my chambers as soon as I could politely excuse myself. It probably looked like a complete rout, not even a fighting retreat. I couldn't bring myself to care. Not bothering to light the lamp, I flung myself on the bed, still fully dressed. I had tried to pay attention to the business of the court, but it was hard to concentrate. And Moire expected me to take on the duties of a court lady as well?

"Hello?" A woman's soft voice from the doorway. A woman's silhouette framed in that arch. "Your Highness. My name is Vialle. I'm here to assist you in adjusting to life at the Rebman court."

I pushed upright from my sprawl on the bed. "Yeah, well, I'll need all the assistance I can get. I can't even get out of this dress." I meant to sound sarcastic. It came out plaintive.

"Perhaps I can help." She stepped into the darkened room, flawlessly navigating past the furnishings and artworks. "Turn around." Her fingertips ghosted over laces and hooks, unfastening things I hadn't realised were tied.

I let out a breath at last. "You're not the maid, are you."

"No."

"Or a lady-in-waiting?"

"No. I serve Her Majesty as one of her protocol advisers."

We were still speaking in the dark. She had not mentioned the lack of light. I touched the lamp, its glass bubble brightening. Vialle tilted her head at the sudden warmth. "Have you been sitting in the dark?"

"You didn't seem to mind."

"As you can no doubt tell, I'm blind. I have been since I was very young."

A blind guide. The irony was not lost on me.

"Would you prefer someone else?" She read my silence easily. She must encounter such silences often.

"No. That's fine. I'm sure you know much more about the Rebman court than me."

Her smile was vivid as a dozen poetic similes. I couldn't help but smile back, even though I knew she couldn't see.

*

Mirrors fill the walls of the palace of Rebma, like a maze of illusions. Rumour says the queen can command them to show Amber, a way to watch the city that is her counterpart.

What it meant was that everywhere I went, I always saw me.

I'd thought the elixir would be some kind of fairytale magic. Abracadabra, you're a beautiful princess. Only it was still me in the mirror: that sharp nose, that wily mouth, that shock of straw-coloured hair. No long golden tresses for this maiden. If I wanted to play Rapunzel, I'd have to grow my hair out the slow way.

Not everything had stayed the same. I had assumed, while I was short for a man, I would be tall for a woman. Wrong. The elixir had helpfully made proportional adjustments. I had lost the advantage of height over my sisters. I was slighter than statuesque Deirdre and willowy Llewella. I might even have to look up at petite Fiona.

I'm no peacock, but I've seen my own reflection enough to know how I look. I'm used to the way I stand and the way I walk. Some of my habits were more obvious now in this new body. Slouching to escape notice. Scrambling towards destruction. It was strange seeing myself from another perspective. I found myself stretching upwards, wanting to take up more space, wanting to stand taller. Maybe I needed to exercise my backbone.

*

There are thirteen months in the year. Here beneath the waves, no one counts the days of the journey of the sun across the sky. But everyone feels the pull of the moon on the tides. It's how the Rebmans mark their calendars: when the currents change, when the jellyfish spawn, when the anemones bloom.

There were thirteen cycles of the moon I had to endure.

Vialle provided the necessities, discreet and sympathetic. But it wasn't the physical discomfort that shook me, but the psychological change. I could fall pregnant. I could bear a child. I had yet to experiment in this body--what were the political ramifications of some Rebman lord tupping a Prince of Amber?--but my world tilted on its axis. No such thing as a mere dalliance anymore. Any encounter could end up as something much more complicated.

"How do you deal?" I asked Vialle. Not something I would ever ask my sisters, although I wondered. All these centuries and not a hint of offspring. "Knowing it's a risk every time?"

"Of course it is," Vialle said. She struggled to say more, a thousand different responses fighting to pour out of her throat. She ended up repeating, "Of course it is. You know that."

Of course I knew. It used to be the kind of thing that happened to somebody else.

*

The Rebmans like their grottoes. Before they built their city, they sought shelter in them from the perils of the open ocean. Some cultural memory remains.

This one I was well familiar with, a short swim from the palace, on the other side of a coral reef. We had slipped away here many a time, before we slipped away for good into the Shadows. There had been a white marble statue of a prince, wreathed in red flowers, and a dozen alcoves for her little treasures. It seemed a more fitting place to commune with her spirit than wherever they had laid her bones to rest.

"Hello, Morganthe," I said softly.

I stayed a long time. I made promises I didn't know if I could keep.

The rest is between me and the grave.

*

Envoys came from Amber, bringing expensive gifts for the queen. They reported back to Eric, of course, everything they saw.

"Fishing for an alliance," Moire said.

"You could kick them out," I said. "Tell them to go hang."

"Could I?" Moire said, between intrigued and amused.

I huffed a sigh. I was not charging up Kolvir waving my sword either. But maybe there was something else I could do to screw up Eric's unsubtle courtship.

I had been avoiding the envoys, all too aware of their avid and curious eyes. Now I sought them out. They had been satisfied to observe from a distance. I pinned them down against the champagne and oyster bar. The chief envoy looked suddenly hunted. "Prince Random--"

"Lady Random."

"What?"

"My title in this court. I'm not a Prince of Amber at this time and place."

"Lady Random," he said, choking on the words, despite his diplomatic training. "I am afraid His Majesty cannot intervene in your--situation--"

"I'm not looking for his intervention," I said. "Her Majesty has been most kind. Tell my brother to come to Rebma himself. It will change his life."

Eric might see through this reverse psychology. But he might also think me brainwashed or playing a long con. Hopefully, either option would give him pause. The longer he left Rebma alone, the more likely he would be to be toppled by one of my brothers.

If worst came to worst, I could always show up to the wedding with a dagger down my bodice and stab Eric in the chest. My sisters would probably cheer me on.

The chief envoy bowed, expression rigid, and made his retreat. I drifted back towards the throne.

"That was a valiant attempt," Moire said.

I shrugged, my colour high. "A roll of the dice."

Explanations were excuses. Regrets fixed nothing. There wasn't any point in looking back. But if I never said it, it would always remain unsaid. "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. For everything."

Her eyelids flickered. An incline of the head I could not interpret. "I'm not the one to whom you most owe an apology."

"I know. But it's too late for me to apologise to your daughter."

"I wasn't talking about her."

*

Rebma reaches further than the eye can see. Visibility underwater is limited: by distance, by light, by clouds of particles you never knew were there. But if you swim out far enough, to the edge of your vision, you might see a new vista open up around you. You might even hear the deep heartbeat of the ocean.

"What kind of name is Random?" Vialle asked.

I shrugged, before recalling she couldn't see the gesture. "What if I told you my father didn't care what I was called? He told my mother, 'Just pick a name at random.' So she did, to turn the joke back on him."

"That's an awful thing to do to a child." There was mingled emotion on her face: appalled and disbelieving. She was good at controlling her reactions at court. It meant something that she dropped the mask around me.

"I think I got off lightly, considering the possibilities."

We sat in companionable silence, while around us shoals of fish darted through forests of kelp.

Vialle asked, "What will you do, when your year is done?"

I looked at her, startled. It didn't seem quite real that this stretch of time would end. Not that I feared eternal punishment. I had once thought the queen volatile and unpredictable, but now I knew I just couldn't see what went on beneath the surface. "I suppose I should help Corwin win the war, since I've thrown my lot in with his."

"Is that still your desire? To see him on the throne?"

"Better him than Eric." But that was a guess too. How well did I know him anymore? How well had I ever known him? Did it even matter who ruled on the mountain when there was a world beneath the waves?

I had woven tenuous threads of connection: Deirdre, Llewella, Vialle, even Moire. But there was a hollow absence. A boy I had never met. Someone to whom I had been father in name but not in heart.

I said at last, "I think I have unfinished business elsewhere."


End file.
